


Ridiculous

by WriterGirl128



Series: No Big Deal [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Scott, Anchors, Angst, Bromance, Fluff, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mostly Fluff, Pack Dynamics, Post-Nogitsune, Protective Scott, Scenting, Sleepy Skittles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 16:13:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2157021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterGirl128/pseuds/WriterGirl128
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles was a good friend. In fact, he was such a good friend that when Scott's protective instincts suddenly turned up to ten, he pretended not to notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ridiculous

**Author's Note:**

> So I put the mildly dubious consent tag in there because I guess it could apply in the beginning, kind of? See the bottom for more notes on that.

Scott was a good friend.

Sure, sometimes his ever-present optimism grated on Stiles’ nerves a bit, and sometimes they disagreed about things, but they’d been through a lot together. They were there for each other. Nothing was ever awkward between them—they’d been sharing a bed during sleepovers since they were four years old. There were some days were they just laid there in total silence, shoulders touching, knees brushing against each other, just to assure each other they were still there. There were some nights where they would fall asleep practically in the others’ arms. There were nights filled with tears and nightmares, like after Stiles’ mom died, or after Allison died, where they would just lie awake all night, keeping the other company, making sure that they weren’t alone. Not even talking, necessarily—sometimes words did nothing. Sometimes silence was easier.

Stiles was a good friend, too.

He was such a good friend, in fact, that when Scott’s protective instincts suddenly turned up to ten, he pretended not to notice. It had started sometime after they got rid of the nogitsune, but before the whole Liam thing. At first, it was subtle—one extra text every now and again, insisting on going with him on even the most boring of errands, showing up more often for impromptu sleepovers. It was fine, really—nothing too strange. Stiles wasn't going to complain—after everything that had happened the last few weeks, having Scott around made him...not as antsy. It helped take the edge off of what seemed like an ever present anxiety coiled in his chest.

Then the touching started. And no, not touching touching, nothing like that. Scott had always been a pretty affectionate person—he wasn't shy about admitting how much he cares about people. But it was like for some reason all of that flip flopped in his head, and he suddenly started becoming very physically affectionate. Not just towards Stiles, though that was definitely where more of his, er—needs—led him. Kira had jumped awkwardly the first time Scott had stood just a little too close (they still weren't sure what they were in regards to each other) and Malia had threatened to punch him the next time he did it.

Lydia, on the other hand, was perfectly supportive of it. "His pack's been threatened," she explained to Stiles one day, in the earlier stages of Scott's new habits. He couldn't help but notice how Lydia's voice got infinitely sadder as she continued, saying, "His pack's been broken. It's only natural for him to want to check in, to physically make sure no one else hurt. It’s his instincts—to take care of his pack. Well, what's left of his pack, anyways."

Stiles wasn't really surprised that it made sense—it was Lydia Martin, after all. "So it's just an Alpha thing?" he clarified. He really just wanted to be sure Scott wasn't going through some hidden existential crisis and subconsciously reaching out for help. Because it definitely was subconscious—Scott didn't seem to realize he was doing it. Either way, Stiles really just wanted his best friend safe.

At that, Lydia almost rolled her eyes, pursing her lips. "I don't know if it's more an Alpha thing or just a Scott thing—but either way, it shouldn't last long. As soon as he's sure we're all alive and safe, he should back off a bit with all the physicality."

But that wasn't what he wanted, Stiles realized with a lurch. He didn't want Scott to back off—he didn't mind the touching. It made him feel solid, made him feel real again. So he acted like nothing changed. When Scott sat a little close to him on the couch when they played video games or watched movies, he didn't mention it. In fact, he tried to help Scott out with it, even leaning into his shoulder a bit, brushing their hands together "accidentally". And after every one of these "accidents," a little bit of the darkness that seemed to be sitting on Scott's shoulders disappeared. Which meant it was worth it.

Then the sniffing started. Again, Stiles didn't exactly mind, it was just—a little weird, at first. Especially because it started in the middle of the night, while Scott was practically spooning Stiles. Not that Stiles minded, really—he was still having some problems with getting warm, and Scott was the perfect heated blanket. It wasn't like it was the first time they've cuddled, either. But it was still a little strange to wake up with Scott literally wrapped around him, his best friend's face and nose pressed into the base of his neck, inhaling deeply, like he usually did when he was trying to find a scent.

Stiles waited a moment for him to say something, but he didn't, and the only sound was the sound of Scott's deep inhalations. Trying to throw the look over his shoulder to Scott, he raised his eyebrows. "Hey uh, Scott? Buddy? Mind if I ask what you're doing?"

Almost immediately after saying it, he regretted it. Scott blinked for a minute before something like embarrassment settled in his expression. Then he was pulling away from Stiles completely, sitting up with his hands shaking. Stiles turned too, to face him, and pretended like he didn't see the red fading from Scott's eyes. "Hey," he said quickly, shaking his head a little. "It's okay, really—I don't mind. I was just, I don't know. Not expecting it."

It was like Scott didn't hear him. Or he heard him and didn't listen to the words. Stiles also pretended like he didn't see the blush settling in Scott's cheeks when he stammered out, "I—er, I didn't mean, I mean. I didn't realize—oh God, Stiles, I'm sorry. That was...I'm sorry."

"Hey," Stiles chided him gently, sitting up. As he did, he scooted a bit closer to Scott, who had his head dropped into his hands. "Stop that. It's fine. Seriously. In fact," he added, raising his eyebrows almost flirtatiously, "I'm rather honored you find me so sniffable."

But Stiles' attempt at humor didn't even faze Scott, who kept his head in his hands, breathing shakily. For a long while, he didn't say anything—he just sat there, head down, breathing. Stiles didn't push him. Something about the way he was sitting clearly showed he was thinking, so Stiles figured it'd be better to give him the time it seemed he needed.

After a long moment, Scott closed his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly. "I don't know what's going on with me, lately," he said quietly, and shook his head. "I just...I don't know."

Stiles bit his lip, casually shifting on the bed so that they're shoulders ended up touching. Scott kind of leaned into it a little without realizing, but Stiles again pretended not to notice. "Lydia thinks it’s an Alpha thing," he told Scott, before shrugging a little. "I think she's probably right. She said it's just because so much has happened to us, and it's kind of just your instincts trying to make sure we're okay. Because it's in an Alpha's nature to protect its pack."

The theory didn't seem to assure Scott, though. He stayed silent for a minute, before frowning at his fingers and shaking his head. "No," he said quietly, then backtracked. "Well, yeah, I guess that makes sense—but...I don't know. There's more to it, than that."

Now it was Stiles' turn to lean into the touch a little, as if trying to assure Scott that he was still there. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked carefully. Scott didn't say anything to that—he simply looked down at his fingers, thinking. After another long stretch of silence, he nodded. But still, he didn't say anything. Stiles could tell he didn't plan to, either—at least, not first. So he bit his lip, taking the reins. "Is it a...a power, thing?" he asked, that cautious tone still present in his voice. "An, I don't know—territorial thing? Like scent marking your territory?"

Scott's eyes widened a little, and he shook his head adamantly. "No, of course not—you're my pack, not my property."

"Okay," Stiles nodded. He thought for a minute. "Is it a sexual thing?" he asked. The way he said it was so openly simple, so nonjudgmental—a way that only came with over a decade of friendship. Like, okay, sure—smelling people gets you going. Smelling your best friend gets you going. No judging here.

But still, Scott shook his head. "No, no. Nothing like that."

"Okay," Stiles said, nodding again. Then a thought came to him that seemed to fit so perfectly, he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it sooner. "Is it an anchor thing?"

By the way Scott seemed to shrink down lower into the bed, he knew it was. "I'm sorry," was all he said, and his voice was uncharacteristically small.

Now Stiles gave up on being subtle, and slung his arm around Scott's shoulders comfortingly. He gave him a little squeeze, and Scott leaned even closer into his touch. "Don't be. I'm honored."

"I just..." Scott started, then shook his head. "I don't know."

"It's okay, dude." Stiles squeezed his shoulders again. "So," he began, making his tone lighter. "How long?"

Now Scott frowned at him. "How long what?"

"How long have I been your anchor?"

Scott dropped his gaze again, locking them on his fingers. "Since we split you and the nogitsune," he admitted with a wince. “I—I didn’t realize it, for a while. I didn’t mean to…” he trailed off, shaking his head.

Stiles frowned at the almost self-reprimanding look Scott had on his face. He opened his mouth, about to tell him off for being an idiot, for thinking Stiles would actually mind, but he found himself saying something else. “Why didn't you tell me?”

Scott bit his lip, eyes locked intently on his own fingers, not looking up at all, now. He let out a small, slow sigh before speaking. “You—you don’t deserve it,” he said slowly. “You don’t deserve to be my anchor.”

Stiles, who wasn’t expecting that answer _at all_ couldn’t help but feel stung a bit by the words. “Oh.” He didn’t know how else to reply—the statement had felt like a slap to the face. Scott was right, of course. Stiles was nowhere near good enough to replace Allison as his anchor. He had too much innocent blood on his hands, too many bodies at his feet. Someone as messed up and cracked as Stiles was didn't deserve to be the glue to hold someone as good and moral as Scott McCall together. A part of Stiles knew that—the same part of him that couldn't help but feel guilty about the things the nogitsune had used his body to do. He just never expected someone would say it to him—especially not Scott McCall himself. “Right.”

Scott seemed to realize how badly he’d worded the statement, how easily it was to be taken the wrong way. His head snapped up, eyes widening in horror of himself as he turned to Stiles, who had dropped his own gaze to his fingers. “No,” he said quickly. “No, man, that’s not what I meant—shit, I’m such an idiot. That came out wrong.”

Stiles shook his head. “It’s fine, Scott—I get it. And you’re right. I don’t deserve it.”

“No, wait, listen—that wasn’t, I mean,” he sputtered, before shaking his head forcefully. “No. That was not what I meant.” He took a breath before continuing, like he was trying to clear his head. “I didn’t mean you don’t deserve it as in you’re not good enough for it. I swear I didn’t. You are good enough, Stiles—you are so much more than good enough. That isn’t what I meant. I meant, you just—” he broke off, shaking his head again. His eyes, so wide and horrified with himself moments ago, closed, and something like pure exhaustion radiated off of him. Not just from sleep deprivation, either—but from everything that’s happened.

Stiles, as hurt by the words as he was, still couldn’t stand to see that kind of world-weary look on Scott’s face. He set a hand on Scott’s back, rubbing it for a second, absorbing the warmth of the touch. “Don’t worry about it,” he said sadly. “It’s okay.”

When Stiles drew away, Scott opened his eyes. Something like anger shone there, though Stiles could clearly see it was directed at himself. “It’s not okay, Stiles,” he protested, before shaking his head again. “Listen to me—I didn’t mean it the way it sounded, okay? I swear I didn’t—I’m just a jerk and I was being ignorant and you can totally punch me any time you want to, okay? Or, or—baseball bat, wolfsbane, I don’t care. Do whatever you want.”

Stiles watched Scott for a moment before shaking his head. “Scott, I’m not going to punch you. You were right.”

“No, I wasn’t. I didn’t mean you don’t deserve it—I meant you didn’t deserve for it to happen to you. Which, now that I’m saying it out loud, makes no sense.” He looked frustrated with himself for a minute, before muttering “Stupid, stupid” and shaking it off. “It’s just—after everything that’s happened, you have enough on your plate. You, of all people, deserve a break. It wouldn’t be fair to push this onto you, too.”

Stiles felt something loosen in his stomach as Scott spoke, noting the earnest expression in his eyes. He really didn’t mean to have it come out like that—it was a bad choice of words. And while the guilty feeling lingered in Stiles’ chest, he at least could find himself breathing a little easier. But the more he thought about what Scott said, the more it began to bug him. “You didn’t think I could handle it?” he asked after a moment.

Scott’s eyes widened in horror again, as if he had made another bad choice of words. “No, god no, Stiles—you’ve handled more than all of us combined. I just—I just thought maybe you’d want to not worry about something, for a while. Have some time to recover, figure things out. I didn’t think telling you that you were literally the only thing holding me together right after you were basically reborn out of a pile of seventy year old bandages in the middle of my living room would’ve helped very much.”

Stiles stared at Scott for a moment, noting the earnestness in his expression, the slight desperation in his eyes. Then he snorted quietly, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you,” he said, but there was a fondness in his tone that made the panic in Scott’s stature and expression fade almost instantly.

“I know,” Scott said, a small, unsure smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Does that mean you don’t hate me?”

Stiles, so completely done with Scott and his insane compulsions to make sure everyone around him was a friend, whacked him in the back of the head with his hand. “I’d never hate you, dummy,” he promised. “I may not like you sometimes, but I’d never hate you.”

Scott’s ghost of a smile spread into a real one for a moment, before faltering again, more serious. “So—so you’re not mad?” he clarified.

“About being your anchor?” Stiles asked, and Scott nodded almost tentatively. Stiles shook his head, returning his arm around Scott’s shoulders casually. “Nah. Kind of flattered, truth be told. Though, I do have to ask—what’s with all the insistent touching? And sniffing? Is that normal?”

Scott shifted uncomfortably, seeming embarrassed. “I don’t know,” he started slowly. “I never, I mean—with Allison, we were always already kind of, you know. Together.” His voice had taken on a kind of sad, lonely tone—a tone that Stiles didn’t like one bit. “We were always holding hands, or—or kissing, and stuff. I thought it was just because I loved her—but maybe some of the touching was more of an anchor thing. I don’t know.”

Stiles nodded, arm tightening almost possessively around Scott’s shoulders. He didn’t like the pain in his friend’s voice when he talked about Allison—a pain he himself knew all too well, a pain that to this day still hits him when he talks about his mother. “So, is this going to be a thing, now?” he asked, hoping to steer the conversation away, in a different direction. “This, dare I say, _intimacy?”_ He wiggled his eyebrows at Scott, hoping for at least a chuckle.

Instead, Scott paled a little bit. “It’s weird,” he got out. “It’s too weird—God, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t—I don’t mean to. It just—” he broke off, shaking his head. “I’m sorry.”

But Stiles could see Scott struggling with the answer. “Should I take that as a yes?” he asked finally. “It is going to be a thing?”

Scott was still pale, and he winced a little. “Unless…unless you don’t want it to?” he asked, sounding unsure of himself. “I mean, if it bothers you then no, of course not.”

Stiles raised his eyebrows at Scott, before scoffing, waving him off. “Oh, please. We’ve been sharing blankets and cuddling since we were four years old, Scott. It’s no big deal.”

Scott still seemed unsure. “You’re sure?” he asked again. “I don’t want to—to make things weird.”

Stiles shook his head, seriously considering whacking him in the head again. “It won’t make things weird,” he promised. “Don’t tell me that you forget about what happened at Lydia’s birthday party, eighth grade?” Again, he wiggled his eyebrows for dramatic effect.

Scott’s eyes widened, before narrowing in accusation. “You told me we’d never talk about that.”

Now Stiles was grinning at him, mischief in his eyes. “Dude, if we can survive seven minutes in heaven and make it out without things being weird, I think we can handle a little snuggling. And I promise to shower every day to accommodate for your sensitive werewolf nose.” As he said the words, he made a small X over his heart.

Scott watched him for a minute, as if trying to judge whether or not he was being serious or not. After a moment, though, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I can’t believe you,” he said fondly, echoing Stiles.

Stiles grinned again. “Love you, too. Now,” he said, and broke off with a yawn. “I don’t know about you, but I still have about a week of possession-caused sleep deprivation to catch up on, so I’m going back to bed.” He raised an eyebrow at Scott, a silent question. When Scott didn’t answer, he just shrugged. “Okay, then. ‘Night, furball.”

As he lay back down, Stiles was sure to keep his back to Scott as he settled down on the pillows. He felt Scott shift in the bed next to him, lying down as well, only the touches Stiles was expecting never came. He shot a look over his shoulder before shaking his head, letting his eyes drop closed. He hadn’t realized how tired he actually was. “You’re ridiculous,” Stiles informed him sleepily. “Come on—spoon me up, Scotty. I can take it.”

There was a slight, quiet snort of laughter from behind him, and Stiles couldn’t help but laugh too. Then Scott’s chest was against his back, and they’re legs were pressed together, though not uncomfortably, and Scott’s strong arm wrapped around Stiles’ waist protectively. He could hear Scott inhale deeply, like he was drinking in Stiles’ scent while he could, and he swore Scott hummed in content as he settled into the bed. Stiles snorted again. “Like I said. Ridiculous.”

Scott’s arm tightened a bit, though not near enough to be painful. Just enough to be solid and steady and warm. Stiles shifted a little bit, taking Scott’s hand in his own. Scott, whose head was low, deep in the curve of Stiles’ neck, laughed. “Yeah. And I’m the ridiculous one.”

“Just shut up and go to sleep.”

Stiles could feel Scott’ grin on the back of his neck as sleep overcame him like a tidal wave.

And for the first time in weeks, no nightmares haunted his dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> So for the consent thing, I guessed I should tag it because of the lack of consent Scott technically has, even though there's nothing invasive in here--just mildly bad perception of personal bubbles. Also feel free to comment with any thoughts or suggestions! This is unbeta'd, so I apologize for any mistakes!


End file.
